


Baring It All

by Arvak



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: And Peter helps him see it, But actually he does, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Good Peter Hale, M/M, Scars, Stiles doesn't like emotions, Stiles doesn't want the bite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 08:57:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20812466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arvak/pseuds/Arvak
Summary: "I'm fine, you know. I don't actually need a baby-sitter," Stiles insisted. To say that interaction with Peter was tedious was a vast understatement. Stiles can't say he doesn't normally enjoy it - it's a nice change from the bland back and forth he has with anyone else. At least Peter keeps things interesting. But it is still Peter; a psychopathic, manipulative, homicidal maniac. His nicknames are Zombiewolf and Creeperwolf and Satan-In-A-V-Neck for a reason!"Yes, I'm sure," Peter drawled, sticking his hands in his pockets and looking around through the woods like he was expecting something interesting to happen."I'm totally serious. Feel free to trot after them. I'll catch up on my own." Stiles took a limping step, using the tree beside him as a stable surface to help carry his weight. "See? Movement. I'm absolutely fine."Just get your sexy sweaty ass out of here so that I don't have to deal with you.





	Baring It All

**Author's Note:**

> While this definitely isn't my first time writing Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, it is the very first time I've written anything for the eyes of anyone other than myself. Because of this, I'm out of practice with making sure there are no mistakes or plot-holes which I would've simply filled in myself and neglected to fix if it were for my eyes only.
> 
> It also means I literally have no idea what I'm doing in regards to actually interacting/posting on a forum thing. I don't even have social media.
> 
> But hey. Everyone's gotta start somewhere and I'll be damned if I don't dive in head-first!

"Hiking sucks," Stiles huffed, frowning deeply as he nursed his twisted ankle. The rest of the pack stood around him impatiently and he really hated them all at that moment. "It's not fair! You guys twist your ankle and you heal. Or, you know, you just don't trip because werewolf coordination is completely unfair." And that is a perfectly valid argument because wheezy, stumbly Scott turned into athletic, lacrosse-star Scott with the bite.

"I'm not a werewolf and I'm doing fine," Lydia said with unimpressed brows.

"Yeah, but you're you. And I'm me."

Lydia at least looked pleased with that.

"I'm gonna keep going," Erica said with an impatient huff, pulling Boyd along behind her. "See you if you catch up, Stiles!" She didn't look behind her to see his indignant glare.

"You wouldn't have tripped if you weren't struggling with your shirt," Isaac said judgingly and Stiles felt himself get very pissed. Isaac, Scott, Boyd, Jackson and both Hales were all shirtless with various shorts. Lydia and Erica were wearing sports bras and short-shorts.

And Stiles had on a grey t-shirt and track shorts and he was dying in the heat. So of course someone's going to point out to him that he could easily just take off his shirt and cool off...

But they didn't know about his scars, and he really wanted to keep it that way. They didn't know about the ugly, gnarly claw marks that spanned across his torso, or the claw marks that wrapped around his side, over the ones over his waist, or the ones on his hip or the upper part of his thigh. They didn't know about the bullet wounds or the knife-marks, nor did they know about the whip marks all over his back. He didn't want them to see the deep, stark-white, jagged claw marks from his left shoulder all the way to his right hip left from the feral werewolf three years ago. These claw marks which gave no disillusion to the damage that a werewolf can do to a human body. And these whip, knife and bullet wounds that gave no disillusion to how many hunters frequently ignored the Code and went after the weakest member of the Hale/McCall pack.

So no, Stiles couldn't take off his shirt, and he wasn't going to. They're lucky he even came out in shorts because there were claw marks that wrapped around his lower right leg when a werewolf had grabbed him as he tried to scramble away after bringing it to the ground. Those scars, however, weren't as visible as the rest.

It's just, he can still remember the feeling of skin and muscle being torn apart. He can still remember screaming with each one, looking down and seeing blood and ragged flesh.

Each scar was an unpleasant reminder of pain and danger.

"Whatever," Isaac said heedlessly as he shrugged after Stiles took too long to respond. "I'm going with Erica and Boyd."

"I vote Peter stays with the cripple," Jackson said sassily before walking off, swooping Lydia under his arm and ushering her away. Stiles sent Scott a look and got a wincing one back.

"There's a really cool waterfall-"

"Yeah yeah, Scott. Whatever." He waved his best friend off and got sorry puppy eyes before the floppy-haired idiot jogged off with the rest of the pack. That only left the Hales.

"Do I need to drive you?" Derek asked with his perpetual scowl on. Stiles shrugged and slowly got to his feet. Peter watched him as he stepped down on his hurt ankle. It hurt, but it wasn't a full sprain. He knew what a sprain felt like.

"No, I'm sure I just need to walk it off," Stiles mumbled, knowing Derek didn't want to have to leave his pack in the middle of the woods, walk all the way back to the car - probably acting as Stiles' crutch and therefore taking forever while Peter kept an eye on the pack, just to drive him all the way home and drive all the way back and by then he'd probably only catch up by the time the pack was returning to their cars.

He wouldn't do that to the poor Sourwolf.

"Peter," Derek said, and Peter nodded. With that, Derek sent one last look to Stiles before jogging off down the trail after the pack. Stiles tried really hard not to watch his back and ass as he ran. He couldn't tell if he succeeded or not.

Stiles sighed heavily and looked over at Peter, shirtless and sweaty, who gave him a less-than-pleased smile in return. Peter, actually, was thinner than Derek. He was leaner than Sourwolf was, but just as hard and muscled, and Stiles loved it. Which is why he's been trying very hard not to look in the Hales' general direction, but failing horribly. The only thing saving him from a tent in his very loose shorts is the special underwear he was forced to buy that are made tighter around the crotch to hide an erection. Because he's constantly turned on around these two sexy assholes.

"I'm fine, you know. I don't actually need a baby-sitter," Stiles insisted. To say that interaction with Peter was tedious was a vast understatement. Stiles can't say he doesn't normally enjoy it - it's a nice change from the bland back and forth he has with anyone else. At least Peter keeps things interesting. But it is still Peter; a psychopathic, manipulative, homicidal maniac. His nicknames are Zombiewolf and Creeperwolf and Satan-In-A-V-Neck for a reason!

"Yes, I'm sure," Peter drawled, sticking his hands in his pockets and looking around through the woods like he was expecting something interesting to happen.

"I'm totally serious. Feel free to trot after them. I'll catch up on my own." Stiles took a limping step, using the tree beside him as a stable surface to help carry his weight. "See? Movement. I'm absolutely fine." _Just get your sexy sweaty ass out of here so that I don't have to deal with you._

Peter didn't leave. He walked slowly with Stiles while he limped his way down the path, up and over roots and rocks. The sun was brutal. Another reason he wanted Peter gone was so that he might be able to take off his shirt for a few moments and let the sweat evaporate. He'd die from heat stroke at this rate.

When Stiles was slowly grunting his way up a boulder that would've been easy to scale if his foot wasn't out of commission, Peter hopped up ahead of him. Stiles was about to bitch about impatience, but then Peter turned around and crouched down, holding down a hand.

Stiles stared up at him without moving, trying to decode why Peter Hale was doing something altruistic. If Stiles were to compile all of the words in the English language and put them in order from "most like Peter" and "least like Peter", _altruistic_ wouldn't even be on that list because Stiles would've personally obliterated it; even the very last word of a list that long, Peter Hale and _altruistic_ should never come into comparison.

"Stiles," Peter bitched, but Stiles stopped him.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like," he continued in that bitching tone, giving his hand a little shake. It was looking into the jaws of an alligator while it told you to trust it to help you across the river.

Stiles squinted his eyes. "_Why?_" He wondered, if only for a short moment, if Peter might actually care. There were things he did sometimes, like stick by him during a tense fight with something trying to kill them while the rest of the pack went off to find a way to take it down. Or, more times than not he was the only one who informed him of things going on that he wasn't aware of, such as plans to take down a supernatural being or talk to a supernatural being or try to make peace with a supernatural being (and it's usually he and Peter who sweep in and stop a huge problem from hurtling into something huger than huge).

He wondered if maybe Peter had the capacity to care about Stiles well being-

"Because I'm sick of waiting on you."

Ahh, and there it is. He knew it. Peter isn't helping him because he sees that Stiles is struggling and figures he might give him a hand. No, he's helping Stiles because he's a selfish, impatient-

"And because you look like you could use some help," Peter continued, effectively breaking Stiles' brain. "Is that so wrong?"

"For you? _Yes!_" He gave Peter a disturbed face and tried to climb the rest of the way without his help but then slipped just a second later and yelped when he had to use his bad foot to catch himself.

"Really, Stiles, you can't possibly be this-"

"Fine!" Stiles reached up and grabbed Peter's hand and let himself be easily pulled up the rock. He stumbled once he hit level ground, trying to get his foot under him without using the other, and Peter grabbed his upper arm as well, holding him close as he got situated.

Being this close, having Peter touching him... It was bad for his mental health. "I'm good, I'm fine," Stiles insisted, wishing he would get his sexy body out of his space.

Peter obeyed and backed off and once again they made their slow trek along. Stiles refused to look at Peter after that humiliation but he still couldn't stop thinking about his hands on him. He was so very rarely touched, unless it was to hurt him or slam him into a wall during an argument. He was touched starved and he knew it.

Stiles had thought he was done having to deal with Peter, but after helping Stiles over a particularly tricky cluster of roots, Peter didn't move out of his way. He stood in front of Stiles, blocking his path, and wouldn't budge.

"Peter, what?" Stiles griped. He didn't like this - having his full, undivided attention. It inevitably made Stiles desperate for him. Regarding and being regarded by Peter fully without any distractions made it impossible to convince himself he wasn't a little more than completely infatuated with him. Because infatuation, by definition, means short term attraction and there is nothing _short term_ about this little problem.

Peter lowered his head and looked deeply into Stiles' eyes - into his fucking _soul_ \- with drawn brows of soft confusion. "Why did you say no to me?"

What? Stiles' brain pulled a blank at what the hell he might be referencing and blinked at him, making an over-exaggerated face of confusion. "_What?_"

"You said no," he explained. "You said you didn't want the bite, and you were lying. I figured you'd change your mind after you grew out of the wide-eyed, black-and-white view of the world but you're far past that now. But still you never did." Stiles was actually stunned into silence and had nothing to say, so Peter continued. "You don't like being weak, but still you insist on being vulnerable. I just don't understand why."

Stiles opened his mouth, but he continued to draw a blank and nothing came out.

"You would've made a wonderful werewolf, Stiles. You still would. You would be amazing." He paused and a tilted smirk took place on his lips. "I'll be honest, I regret missing the chance to make you mine."

All of this talk, words like _"wonderful"_ and _"amazing"_ and the whole, _"I regret missing out on making you mine"_... It was too personal. It was too... It was too nice, too... "Peter-..." That scary feeling of a fluttering stomach and flushed cheeks appeared and Stiles' tongue darted out to lick his dry lips. He was horrified to see that Peter's eyes tracked the movement and he knew this was a road he couldn't go down. No, he couldn't. Peter was talking like he liked Stiles, and yeah, he'd said that he liked Stiles before and he had been very _instistant_, but Stiles still pushed it away.

It was wrong... It wasn't just wrong, it was impossible. It's Peter. _1-million-miles-out-of-Stiles'-league_ Peter. He doesn't know if Peter does this on purpose or not, but he makes Stiles think he might actually like him, admire him, yet Stiles knows he's not desirable, and he expects nothing but words from Peter. There's no way he could actually end up with him. "Please stop."

"I just want to understand, little thing," Peter said softly.

"I-... _No_." He pushed Peter out of the way, trying to burn the sound of his soft voice, those sweet words leaving his lips, as well as the feeling of his hot, wet skin under his hands out of his head.

Peter followed him, quiet for a few minutes, but then said, "You don't deserve their pity and underestimation... Stiles, you deserve to be the strongest of all of us." Peter, no matter how sweet his words could get, had no right to question his reasons to not turn.

Stiles spun on him and got in his face, seething through his teeth, "_Maybe_ being the weak human is how I feel strong! Maybe I prefer knowing that, as the weakest of all of you assholes, I'm still fighting harder than they _ever_ will!" It was a fact of his life - he is the underdog. It's all he knows. He was always that weird kid in school that no one ever pays a second glance to, so he made sure he was the smartest out of all of them to make up for that. And now, he's the weak, skinny human wrapped up in a world of supernatural beings that could literally cheat death, so he keeps up with them. The weakest of them all, yet he's still right there next to them. That makes him stronger than they'd ever be.

"You have nothing to prove to us, darling," Peter said seriously.

"_Obviously_, I do!"

"You don't." Peter grabbed Stiles' wrist and his thumb swept over his pulse-point, sending shivers up Stiles' spine. "Consider this." He stepped closer when Stiles didn't yank out of his grip, and Stiles was helpless to stare into his beautiful eyes as his voice crafted his subtly manipulative words. "Every time you say you don't want to be stronger, you're lying. Every time you say you don't want to be equal with the pack, you're lying. Every time you're left behind in your room at your computer and books, pacing and worrying, you could have been out there helping them fight. And I know that's where you want to be."

There was a moment, then when Stiles couldn't do anything about his eyes falling to Peter's lips. He was saying such perfect things, making Stiles feel like maybe... Just maybe...

Stiles finally jerked his wrist out of Peter's grip and took a limping step back, but Peter took a step closer, pushing on.

"You don't like being stuck on the sidelines knowing one day you might have to greet the pack at the door, seeing your beaten and bloody friends, and realize _someone's missing_."

"_Stop!_"

Peter paused and pressed his lips together for a moment. "Reconsider."

"Why-" Why did he want this so badly? Why is this such a big deal for him? "Why can't I just be human and everyone be satisfied with that?" Stiles hated the sting of tears in his eyes. Why did Peter have to be such a pushy asshole?

"I think a part of you knows the answer to that." Peter licked his lips, then, and his eyes darted down to Stiles' torso. "The same part of you that insists on keeping your scars hidden." Stiles' heart jumped and there was no humor in Peter's smile. "You really think I didn't figure that out? I know you're not ashamed of your body. Even under all of your extensive plaid over-shirts, it's obvious you're lean to _perfection_."

Stiles swallowed dryly. _"Lean to perfection"_, come the fuck on. "Running for my life every week really did wonders," he joked even as he wondered why Peter _noticed_.

Peter reached back out and took Stiles' wrist again, much softer this time. Stiles let him despite himself. "We can never be satisfied with you being human because you're vulnerable. We need you and allowing yourself to stay as vulnerable as a human is... well, it's selfish. To assume the rest of us can do without you is simply naive." Why did he have to seem like he truly meant what he said?

"The rest of the pack doesn't seem too concerned." They're always leaving him behind, always uncaring of just how much a sprained ankle actually hurts, as if they've completely forgotten what it was like to be human.

"By the rest of the pack you must mean the childish, self-absorbed Betas who have never made a real sacrifice in their life. Because Derek and I see the problem plain as day, and it worries us." Peter gestured down at Stiles' foot. "What if this happened while we were under attack? What if one of us couldn't get to you? What if you _died?_"

Stiles felt a tear slip down his cheek and he pressed his lips together tight, gritting his teeth.

"Believe it or not, Stiles, we all already know you're strong. You finally having the ability to heal a life-threatening wound will never change our minds of that fact."

Stiles looked up towards the sky so that he wasn't looking at Peter when more stupid tears fell.

"Your scars are a testament to how much you've been through - how much you've survived," Peter continued lowly. "They're not something to be ashamed of." His hand went to his waist and slid up under Stiles' shirt. He closed his eyes when he felt Peter's fingers brush over the ending of the gruesome scratches that spanned his entire torso. The touch-staved part of him reveled in it and more tears fell. Damn it. "Part of you thinks you need these scars to prove you're strong, but the other part knows that it does nothing of the sort. Strength isn't how many scars you have. Strength is going through something horrible and coming out a better person. You don't need scars to prove that." His hand stayed under his shirt over his scars while his other one came up to his cheek and wiped away the tears.

Stiles opened his eyes and stared into Peter's. Never have they been so... intimate. So close. So emotional. So together. He watched Peter's eyes bounce between Stiles' like he was watching his thoughts fly behind them, like he was trying to decode him.

His eyes fell to Peter's lips once again, completely helplessly, as he imaged them speaking those nice words again. The feeling of his hands on him, the weight of the obvious care on his face, and a part of him was desperate for it. He felt himself lean forward, completely out of control, and thought about what it would be like to kiss him, or maybe just press against him and revel in the feeling of a hug.

He hadn't realized they were so damn close until he felt Peter's breath on his lips, and he jerked back, stepping away from Peter's touch.

Stiles stared down at the ground, heart pounding and mind racing. After a long moment of stilled silence, he continued. "I have panic attacks, Peter," Stiles said slowly. "I can't even control my anxiety. How am I supposed to control a dangerous _thing_ clawing inside of me?"

Peter sighed softly. "See, you underestimate yourself far more than anyone else around you." A pause. "One day, you'll see." Peter stepped away from him and, after a lingering glance, he turned and began walking down the path as if the conversation was even _close_ to being over. "You were meant to be powerful."

"Peter!" Stiles called out, trying to hobble after him, but the asshole kept walking at stop speed, leaping up and over rocks and roots.

"See you at the waterfall, love," he said before disappearing around the bend of the trail.

Stiles was pissed. But he was also pensive. But he was mostly pissed. Peter did that intentionally he bet, leaving him to hobble after alone. It left him thinking, and knowing that, if he had super healing, Peter never could've left him. Now he has to make his miserable way all the way down this miserable trail like the miserable human being he was.

Stiles tried to think about how close Peter had allowed him to get, how close he had allowed their lips to get, but he didn't let himself fancy the idea of being with Peter. Instead, his mind was pulled into a spiraling track about the bite; becoming a werewolf.

The problem is that he promised himself he'd stay human. He promised himself he'd never succumb to the need for that power. After he saw what it did to Scott, he knew that being that strong would poison him. It would make him undervalue true strength. It would make him yearn for more power. It would turn him into a true monster.

But, he thinks, maybe he is over-exaggerating. Because he also promised himself as a kid that he would never break the law. He'd seen what it did to all of the scum of the Earth and never wanted to become that. But, here he is, breaking the law regularly, yet he's still the same person, still standing for justice and being a good person.

His entire miserable hike down the trial left him thinking in circles. "On one hand... but on the other" being a constant theme.

By the time he finally reached the waterfall where the pack was all playing in the large pool of water at the bottom he still hadn't made up his mind. But, he'll admit, he was now open to the thought of taking the bite far more than he'd ever been before.

Peter looked over at him from his spot on top of the biggest boulders beside the water. He was sitting there with one knee up, one arm resting on it. He looked like the epitome of "cool". He smiled at Stiles and waved his fingers just before Isaac came climbing up on the rock beside him and then ran off, diving into the water with a loud battle cry.

It looked fun.

But Stiles knew he couldn't do that with his hurt foot.

Damn it, he was so pissed.

"Nice to see you made it!" Scott called out to him from the middle of the pool of water. Jackson mumbled something undeniably rude and Stiles would've been able to hear it if he wasn't human.

Stiles huffed and walked over to the water. He glared up at Peter, and Zombiewolf looked back down at him and rested his chin on the arm over his knee like he had any right to be cute right now.

He pulled off his shoes and socks.

Then, he pulled off his shirt. He bared his pale skin and stark scars to the world and limped his way to the water. He watched everyone stop and stare at him, eyes tracking his jagged scars, but he continued. He walked beside Derek, who was sat on a rock with his feet in the water, and sat down beside him, frowning down at his feet. He watched Derek look over from his peripheral, saw him stare at his back. All of the whip marks, the deep scratches.

All of his wounds. All of the evidence of the pain he's endured.

Stiles was baring it all.

And it was horrifying.

No one did anything for a long minute. Peter was the first one to do something, lurching off the rock and falling down into the water. He swam all the way over to Stiles under the water before surfacing at his feet. Stiles stared down at him and Peter gave him a tilted smirk back.

"Care to jump in?" Peter asked him. Before Stiles even answered, he wrapped his hands around both of Stiles' ankles and drew away Stiles' pain. Then, he pulled Stiles in. Stiles yelped. He was going to snap at Peter for that, but Peter's hands slid over his skin while he helped him stay above the water and he shivered, enjoying every second. Still, they were in the water and Stiles was one foot down. Stiles tried kicking with just one foot, but it wasn't working. "Peter, I can't swim," Stiles said, forced to grab onto Peter's shoulders, feeling his large hands run over his sides. He saw Peter's smirk and knew, then, that this is exactly what he wanted. "Bastard."

"Oh, yeah," Peter agreed, pulling Stiles further out into the water. "You'll want to see this."

The pack did nothing to stop Peter from swimming Stiles to the huge, impenetrable waterfall. Behind it, apparently, as Stiles protested loudly while Peter drug them under the water. His ears still rung from the noise and his shoulders ached a little bit from the force of the water falling down on him, but then they were past the water and in front of them was a cave.

Nothing too impressive. It was a cave about the size of a bedroom. There was still about an inch of water running along the floor of the cave so it wasn't satisfying for a picnic or something, but it was perfect to climb up and sit down, staring out at the water.

Peter slid up close to Stiles and said into his ear, "They can't see or hear us." It was loud so they had to be that close to hear each other unless they were willing to yell. "What did you decide?"

"I didn't," Stiles snapped back. But he wasn't entirely angry, now. Mostly, he felt vulnerable. Very vulnerable.

"Certainly you came to some kind of conclusion."

"Yeah, I did," Stiles said, looking over into Peter's blue eyes.

Then everything he'd been about to say just... disappeared.

Peter was only inches away. Water was weighing down his usually perfectly-styled hair, and droplets hung in his eyelashes which Stiles had never actually been close enough to pay attention to. A drop of water dripped over his soft, pink lips. Another drop fell from his lashes when Peter's eyes fell to Stiles' own lips and blinked.

A dangerous thought appeared in his head:_ I wonder just how close Peter would let me get..._

Before Stiles knew what was happening, Stiles was leaning in, and Peter was leaning in to meet him...

The first contact of their lips was wet and slippery and imperfectly perfect. Stiles couldn't believe any of it. Kissing Peter. He never would've guessed this would ever happen outside of his wildest dreams, but here he is, kissing Peter in a cave behind a waterfall.

Making out with Peter, actually. As time passed and Stiles became more confident the "kissing" definitely turned into "making out".

He felt a spike of anxiety when he realized that there was no coming back from this. There was no reverting their relationship back to what it was like this has never happened. They will forever have the moment between them where they made out, wet and shirtless behind a waterfall. This will be a constant. There is only moving forward from here.

But then his anxiety soothed because he knew that, if everything that Peter has told him up to now was true, Stiles would have no reason to worry about anything regarding them both. If what Peter has said was true, there'd be no reason to worry because Peter might truly _love_ him.

And, well... Peter is hot. And he's one of those rational people (aside from the murder spree) that knows that relationships are tricky and sometimes people do things they want to do without wanting all of the baggage that comes with it.

Friends with benefits feels like a pretty possible outcome of this.

"Quit thinking," Peter mumbled against his lips.

Stiles scoffed and lifted his hand, setting it hesitantly on Peter's knee to get a better angle. "This is a very thought provoking situation! I can't just not think!" Stiles protested between kisses.

"Sure you can," Peter said, lips pulling in a smirk, and his hand set on the side of Stiles' neck. His thumb swept over his jugular, then trailed down his chest, over all of his scars, and kept going. Stiles gasped a little when Peter pressed down on his erection and he felt his toes and fingers curl, felt his hips arch up, felt his eyes roll back in pleasure. This is the first time he's ever been touched like this. Holy fuck. "There you go," Peter breathed, nipping Stiles' bottom lip before ducking his head down. Stiles' head was forced back when Peter nosed his way to his neck. Stiles let out a shaky moan as the pleasure from the squeezing, rubbing pressure to his dick paired with the licking, nipping and sucking on his neck totally short-circuited his brain.

Then, all of a sudden, Peter's mouth and hand left him. Stiles struggled for a moment, but eventually pulled his head back up and stared at Peter. Peter's eyes were glowing bright blue and Stiles felt his cock twitch hard. "Okay," Stiles breathed, swallowing. "Okay, we're going to talk about this much more later, but for right now I just need to know one thing."

"Mmm?" Peter hummed, glowing eyes engulfed by his blown pupils.

Stiles forced some of his conscious thought back to his brain and not only his dick. "Why are you doing this?"

Peter cocked his head and let a pause stretch on. "Simple," Peter finally said, slowly leaning back in and bringing Stiles back into a kiss with a soft hand on the side of his neck. "You are _heart-stoppingly beautiful_ in _every_ way, and I would be the luckiest man on the Earth to make you mine."

Distantly, he couldn't believe Peter possibly found him desirable. But he knew it must low self-esteem because all evidence is pointing to one truth: Peter Hale is a complicated man who, for some reason, enjoys kissing Stiles so much he loses control of his shift enough to let his eyes flash.

Still, a part of him reacted to "make you mine" in a way that was unexpected. A part of him which was rebellious and independent. It was ironic. Peter said he was the luckiest man in the world to make Stiles his, but Stiles feels the same; he wanted to make Peter _his_. He wonders if Peter will learn, one day, that Stiles is not someone who can be owned. Stiles may be touch starved and may bare his neck to Peter, but if anyone is going to be obeying orders from the other, it's certainly not going to be him. Maybe he will have a chance to teach Peter that in the future. Maybe they'll _have _a future.

Stiles hummed back, opening his mouth to meet Peter's tongue, then said whenever Peter's tongue was out of the way, "That works for me, Zombiewolf."

\---

Two months of tentative dating and hot make-out sessions later, Stiles and Peter approached Derek at the loft after a long conversation on the roof of Stiles' house, staring up at the stars. Before they'd even said anything, Derek told them, "I already know you're sleeping together. And I really don't care as long as I don't have to suffer through details."

"Not what we're here for," Stiles said.

He looked Derek in the eyes and held out his wrist. He took a steadying breath and felt nothing but surety.

"I want the bite."

**Author's Note:**

> I have a Wattpad account too!  
https://www.wattpad.com/user/Arvak_Fenrir
> 
> (I mostly post dark, existential, thought-provoking short stories. Check them out! They're short reads, but they're very powerful. Who knows... You might learn a thing or two)
> 
> I hope you enjoy!


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